Classified
by EriLenx07
Summary: It was cases like these that almost made Tracker regret joining Interpol. Almost.


_(Chapter 1)_

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The people of this world are taught to believe that it is beautiful.

Surrounded by nature and wonderful creatures that serve as humanity's ever loyal companions, they are taught to believe that the world is flawless.

The only crimes to have been committed in the eyes of the public (or rather, the only ones that the public opens its eyes to) are those that are far too petty to be a threat to the world order and it is considered to be perfectly safe for families to send their children out on journeys throughout their home regions without supervision.

It is a blissful utopia, but truthfully… perfection like that does not exist.

It cannot exist.

Perfection goes against human nature. There are always those that are consumed by their own greed, their own hate. There is always a motive for evil.

People choose not to believe in the existence of villains such as murderers, rapists and traffickers. They choose to ignore the possibilities of violence and they choose to pretend that there is no danger in the world that surrounds them.

After all, ignorance is indeed bliss.

However, how is that ignorance maintained? How can so many people retain their innocence when there is evil and corruption lurking at every corner?

Well, the answer is quite simple really.

Most children leave their homes between the ages of ten and fifteen. They receive their first pokémon in whichever way that their hometown handles pokémon distribution and go off on their merry way.

But what happens afterwards?

Some join the contest scene and become coordinators. Of course, very few actually stay in that highly competitive profession. It is very expensive to maintain a proper contest pokémon and the pay depends solely on a coordinator's skill and how they compare to their competition.

Those that choose to stay in the profession either end up as revered stars or on the streets, struggling to make ends meet. Some simply go back to their family's business as though their dreams of stardom had never existed in the first place, while others transition into related fields, such as fashion and grooming.

Another popular choice is the league challenge.

Most regions (excluding places like Alola) have at least eight gyms. Challengers tackle these gyms one by one with their pokémon as each challenge gets harder and harder. The record time for the completion of any region's gym challenge is currently two years, set by a young Kantonian trainer who has since disappeared.

Once all eight gyms have been defeated, the trainer can then go on to the League Tournament.

A gathering of the best of the best, the League is the only way to make it to the top. Beat all of the other trainers, and you get a one way ticket to battling the Elite Four. If they're defeated (and this is a _very_ big if) then the next opponent is the Grand Champion, the strongest trainer in the region.

Though, that hardly ever happens nowadays.

Regardless, trainers going on this route tend to make their money doing odd jobs and battling each other. Gyms also give out a substantial monetary reward to those who manage to defeat them, but gym battles are not a very steady source of income.

The League route has the second highest dropout and unemployment rate. Those that do manage to do well enough as trainers tend to end up as teachers at battling schools, gym trainers or breeders.

Those that do not have the same negative possibilities as the contest rejects.

All in all, most would agree that journeys are simply meant to make children realize that the world outside their nice little towns and cities is not for them and that they should simply stay where they are and making a living for themselves.

Of course, this still doesn't account for the people responsible for the maintenance of this happy-go-lucky society, where no matter what a person's social status is or their situation, they are always happy so long as they live with their pokémon.

So who are they?

Throughout their journeys there are some trainers that just… stand out, so to speak.

It could be for anything, really.

But what they really searched for were prodigies. People with incredible battling skills or a remarkable aptitude for logic. People with an undeniable spark that could never be extinguished.

Every trainer is put on a national registry the moment they begin their journey. The law requires it, after all. All of their achievements up until the end of their travels are compiled onto their files in this registry and it is with this registry that the government decides who is worth keeping track of.

If a trainer manages to stay on the list for four years then an agent is sent after them. If the agent is impressed, then the trainer will receive an offer.

To join the International Police.

The International Police, Interpol for short, is a very prestigious organization. Only twenty trainers receive an offer to join per year in each region and even fewer survive the rigorous four year training course along with the required field experience to truly make it into the organization.

Those that do make it into Interpol are the best of the best. After all, it is a very perilous job. They risk their lives on every mission, going after the worst of the worst in order to preserve the peace that the civilians live in.

Some specialize in reconnaissance. These agents usually aren't very strong- their training doesn't leave time for battling practice. Instead, they are tricky. Able to come up with a flawless disguise at a moment's notice with only the most brilliant of facades, recon agents are as valuable as they are rare.

Then, of course there are the non-combatant agents. Non-combatants aren't always trainers, but they are exceptionally talented in their respective fields. Hackers, field medics, forensic scientists...they are all essential to Interpol's inner workings.

Combat-based agents come in their own tiers as well, each working a very specialized niche.

Each and every case must be assigned to the perfect agent, of course, creating a necessity for variety that could only be satisfied by allowing each agent to pursue their own path as they work through the four year training academy.

Let's take Agent 33004, codename: Tracker- for example.

An ordinary-looking nineteen year old girl, Tracker has had her own pokémon since the tender age of eight; a trainer since the age of ten.

Born in the religious town of Solaceon in rural Sinnoh, she had always been brought up to believe in the concept of destiny, of a predetermined path that was just waiting for her to set out on.

However, she was always _different_ from her peers, even from the very beginning.

So you see, Solaceon Town liked to apply its obsessive ideals of destiny to many different things.

Naming your child? Give them a name that you believe is connected to the destiny that you pray for them to have. Who knows, Arceus may just hear your prayers and allow them the path of your dreams.

Starter pokémon? The Solaceon Daycare exists for a reason.

Each year there would always be left over eggs in the daycare that trainers would abandon, refusing to take in the offspring of their precious companions.

Now, there are many things that can be done with pokémon eggs. For instance, some of the world's greatest delicacies were made from the eggs of pokémon. Common ones, that is. Magikarp, bidoof, pidgey, rattata...pokémon that the world already has more than enough of.

Or perhaps they could be used as food for greater, more powerful pokémon- such as the magnificent birds pidgeot and mandibuzz, or even the beautifully attack-diversified furret.

Eggs also fetched a hefty price on the market. Selling pokémon eggs probably could have caused Solaceon's economy to soar to the levels of places like Hearthome City or the metropolises of Veilstone and Sunyshore.

However, they ignored all of these luxurious possibilities. Instead, they instilled the 'destined-partner' system.

Each leftover egg was given to a child of about seven or eight years old by random. The child and their family would then care for the egg to the best of their ability until it finally hatched into the miracle that the children of Solaceon desperately desired.

Their own pokémon.

There were rules to this, of course.

First of all, no take backs. This is the pokémon that Arceus himself deigned to give to you- you must be grateful. Even if it is a pathetic bidoof.

Second, you may not know what the egg holds beforehand. For that reason pokémon egg guides are forbidden in Solaceon. It must always be a surprise.

Finally, you must keep your partner by your side for the rest of your life. This is a match far more valued and permanent than petty things such as marriage.

As a child, Tracker had always believed that she would get stuck with a magikarp or something equally undesirable.

Her sisters, after all, were the perfect ones. They were beautiful- even as children- contrasting greatly against her plainness. The twins always got what they wanted.

The twins wanted to try being child models? Their parents signed them up right away. They even got the job on their first try.

Tracker wanted to try it? _Oh no dear, it's not your thing. Maybe when you're older?_

It didn't happen when she was older either.

The point is, the twins were the princesses. Tracker, on the other hand?

She had liked to fancy herself as Cinderella, once upon a time.

Even the twins' destined-partners were perfect.

An azurill and a pachirisu. Cute and fluffy, they were exactly what any good little girl should have in her life.

Maybe that's why Tracker was never meant to be 'a good little girl'.

Two years after the twins received their little bundles of joy, Tracker went to the daycare herself, clinging tightly to her dear mother's arm. They both knew that the girl's life was about to change, pokémon had a tendency to do that, but they really had no clue as to exactly how much, now did they?

She stood in line with all of the other boys and girls, bouncing on the heels of her small feet. Tracker's heart had been racing at the time, she remembered, with fear and excitement and happiness and just about every other emotion she could name.

Finally, it was her turn.

An egg- about three-quarters of the size of her torso- was presented to her. It was a bland shade of blue-grey with a large, equally bland red splotch on the front, curving to its bottom.

It was not a bright egg. Nor was it a pretty one, not like her sisters' had been.

Her mother had insisted that there must have been a mistake when Tracker had come out of the daycare, desperately clutching the egg to her chest as though it was her lifeline. Such an ugly egg should not be going anywhere near her daughter!

(She always had been such a materialistic woman.)

Tracker didn't care.

The egg was special. It was not like her sisters' and that suited her just fine. It was hers and hers alone.

It was going to be her new friend, her best friend, a friend that would not like anyone more than it liked her.

It would love her, just as she already loved it.

She cared for the egg tenderly for the next few months, keeping it warm and snuggling up to it at night.

 _I bet that pokémon's going to be the ugliest thing in the world_ , one of the twins had said childishly, pointlessly.

 _I feel sorry for you, sis,_ the other had added. _Being stuck with_ that.

Tracker still didn't care.

It already loved her more than it loved them, she thought, since it only showed signs of hatching when it was just her.

The twins never got to see her little miracle.

Thinking back to it, Tracker could see where her vindictive streak first started. It had been inevitable for such feelings to develop- especially for a disappointment like her.

It took the egg ten months, one week, five days, two hours and thirteen minutes to hatch.

Tracker would know- she had eagerly counted.

The pokémon that hatched from the egg was exactly as her family had predicted.

It was small and round- its body entirely disproportionate. Scrawny feet were attached to what was both a head and a body of dull blue-grey and red scales. Its eyes were huge and colored a bulging black against pure white irises. The creature was, in essence, exactly what her mother had feared.

Tracker was entranced.

Gible was everything that she had hoped for him to be. He was energetic and loving, attacking her with licks and snuggles the moment that he had opened his eyes. He had taken his milk and meat mixture eagerly, happily suckling on the bottle in Tracker's arms.

Gible had not paid any attention to any living thing that was not Tracker. He slept with her at night, a scaly little teddy bear that Tracker could no longer imagine living without.

The little dragon was Tracker's world and she was his. It was a simple relationship, but it was a brilliant one.

Gible had been the first sign that Tracker had not been meant for the simple life of running a berry farm that her parents had set out for her.

After all, Gible- by nature- was not a pet. He was not calm nor was he a simple being that derived its pleasure from playing around in a comfortable house.

No, Tracker's destined-partner was a battler. A dragon whose power could not remain contained; a creature whose place was in the adrenaline-filled battling scene.

Two years later, two years of growing farther and farther apart from her family and closer and closer to Gible, Tracker had set out on her journey.

The twins had stayed at home. Modeling was more important to them, clearly, but that was their problem. Tracker and Gible had better things to be doing than convincing the lost causes of what was really important in life.

The first thing that they had felt- _together, always together_ \- was freedom.

There was no stifling presence, no oppressing jealousy.

There was only Tracker and Gible.

And that suited them just fine.

Their first stop, obviously, was Hearthome City. It was the place nearest to Solaceon and best of all, it had every little girl's dream come true - pokémon contests.

Tracker may not have had the best of childhoods, but she was still a child; still a little girl with the same dream as all the others.

To be a contest star.

And so they trained. They entered classes for young coordinators- spending weeks and weeks on something that was merely a daydream.

For their contest debut was a disaster.

Oh, they tried. But Gible was not cute, nor was he elegant.

He was outclassed and it only took them one loss to realize it.

Tracker could remember the pit in her stomach, the dread of not seeing herself on the list of those who were advancing to the next round.

She recalled bursting into tears, a raging bundle of disappointment as she realized that she had not been good enough; as she understood that her sisters could have easily won that contest.

It was that despair that had brought Tracker to the outskirts of Hearthome and into the arms of her second pokémon.

Ralts were well known for being the 'emotion pokémon'. They could sense thoughts and feelings and it was this that had brought him to the depressed duo.

( _Gallade always was the knight in shining armor, after all. Even all those years ago._ )

He had tilted his head in curiosity when he came upon them, offering his comfort and the sweet pecha berries that had been clutched in his small hands.

It was hard to resist the pecha berries.

Ralts clicked with them easily, the fairy-psychic easily balancing out Gible's almost never ending energy. It was as though it was a match made in heaven, the three of them.

And so the duo became a trio.

Ralts' addition spurred a new vigor in the ten year old Tracker, turning her towards her new goal- the Pokémon League.

The weeks became months and the months had become years as Tracker built up her team- challenging gym after gym.

They were good, really good. It never took them more than three tries per gym, even with only four pokémon.

Gabite, Kirlia, Luxio and Mightyena.

A quirky bunch (okay, more like off their damn rockers, but same thing, really).

They had four badges by the time she was thirteen. It was then, of course, that Tracker had finally decided to go for their fifth member- and she knew just what she wanted.

That had been the next turning point.

Milotic were the most beautiful of all pokémon, she had thought. She wanted one. She wanted their smooth elegance, their graceful strength.

Perhaps it had been the remnants of her long forgotten contest dreams speaking. She wasn't really sure anymore.

Regardless, she had been determined.

And so began the research.

Tracker scoured every source of information she could find, desperately uncovering new facts at every corner. She had become obsessed with this pokémon, the idea of this pokémon.

Well, it wasn't really the pokémon itself, per se.

What she truly enjoyed was the chase. She liked the endless possibilities, the puzzles to unravel as she searched for ways to discover this pokémon.

It almost became an obsession, though it was a fun one indeed.

(Looking back on it now, Tracker supposed that maybe if she hadn't searched so zealously her luck would have been better and she could have ended up with a nice, sane little beauty and not _Milotic_.) 

(She loves the narcissistic bastard anyways.)

It hadn't taken her long to discover the preevolution of milotic, feebas. From there, it was a matter of locating the habitat of the fish pokémon and obtaining one.

In a way, she had felt a sort of kinship with the pokémon she had never met.

An ugly creature that had the chance to blossom into the most beautiful pokémon of them all?

Yes, she could definitely relate to it.

The experience had taught her the wonders of the chase, the sweet taste of victory as she found her target deep in an underground lake in filling her with vigor for the entirety of the next week.

Nurturing Feebas, the sweet little baby who was destined to become a devil, Tracker and her team had stumbled upon the final trial of their journey by complete accident only a few weeks later.

It was important to know that order to grow and evolve, feebas tended to require very specific diets, specifically needing the nutrients found in the contest performance enhancers known as 'poffins' of the dry variety.

Tracker usually preferred to make the poffins on her own, but occasionally she had liked to spoil Feebas (something that she now somewhat deeply regretted) with expensive poffins from the Veilstone Department Store.

It had all begun on a fairly normal morning.

Luxio had been walking by her side, the electrifyingly prideful cat providing her with his quiet company as they made their way to get Feebas' treat.

Tracker had never been the most confident girl in the world, not by a longshot. Hell, she still stuttered when she talked to her family. But when her pokémon were with her, it was as though she was on top of the world.

The Tracker that her pokémon drew out practically commanded attention. It was in the way that she walked, as if she was royalty in a sea of commoners (which, to her, wasn't an inaccurate way to describe it. She was so lucky to have her quirky little band of creatures; it seemed as if the simple act of caring for them was the greatest privilege of all- much less being able to call herself their trainer).

It was the coordinator training, really. They had been taught to present themselves a certain way- to present themselves the way they would present their pokémon.

To Tracker this behavior had become natural, effortless, though it disappeared every time she recalled her pokémon to their balls. To others, it was arrogance. It made her a target.

In retrospect, taking that alleyway shortcut had been a bad idea. Probably one of the worst ones she's ever had, which is _really_ saying something.

(There's a _very_ good reason as to why she never does recon.)

Of course, at the time it had seemed as though taking such a shortcut would have been fine.

Tracker had still been under the influence of the civilian mindset of invincibility. It did not occur to her that anything could possibly go wrong. Luxio was by her side and her other pokéballs were hanging on her belt within her fingers' reach.

She was a trainer and a damn good one at that.

As such, it had come as a complete shock when they were attacked.

Effortlessly overpowered by a masked enemy, Tracker had been shoved against a wall; Luxio collapsed by her feet- taken out by the offending trainer's krokorok in a single move.

She recalled trembling in fear, desperately struggling to get out of the person's grip; to Luxio's still form.

The attacker knocked her out, sick of her struggles and unheard screams. When she woke up her pokéballs were gone as was all of her money, leaving only Luxio untouched on the concrete.

The world froze the moment she noticed the lightness of her waist, the absence of her tauros leather belt.

Sobs began to tear through her throat, her heart constricting as the implications began to crush her soul.

Her team- most of them- were gone.

It was as though her life had ended in that very moment.

For how could she live without Gabite? Without the bond between their souls, without his constant air of protection, without the sarcasm that had evolved from the energy he had had as a gible? Who would call her out on her thoughtless recklessness, who would console her every loss?

Who would be her Gabite?

And where would her life be without Kirlia? Dear, sweet Kirlia whose sole ambition it was to make everyone's hearts sing, to save every soul he could? Who would direct her to every little pokémon in need, to every victim that they could save? Who would be her light? Who would be their conscience?

Who would be her Kirlia?

Oh, but how could she ever survive without Mightyena? Mightyena who guided her, who told her who was good and who was evil? How could she ever discern the intentions of others without Mightyena's subtle hints, without his keen and expressive eyes? Who would be the one to tear into their enemies, the one to bring home the victories against the most intelligent of adversaries?

Who would be her Mightyena?

Her precious little Feebas… so innocent and so full of potential. She was his protector, how could she fail him like this? How could she live when his sweet eyes looked at her from behind her eyelids, how could she live when she was already being haunted by what he could have become? What he already was?

How could she have been so careless as to let it all end for him in such a cruel manner?

It was as though her soul had been divided into six pieces. One was in her, but the rest were with her pokémon.

Without them, she was incomplete.

Somehow, beyond her notice, Tracker found herself huddled against the wall of the alleyway, Luxio- the only remaining piece of her soul- limp in her arms, taking shallow breaths against her chest.

Luxio…Luxio…

She could already see the disappointment, the self-loathing inside of him. Luxio was a perfectionist, a creature with deadly accuracy of whom had only ever lost a match against a gym leader. There was a fire within Luxio- one that could never be extinguished.

She knew he would blame himself for this. This embarrassment, being knocked out by a single blow. Nevermind that the other pokémon had been bigger, stronger and held the type advantage.

She wasn't sure whose flesh he would have desired to break through and destroy with his deadly static fangs more had he been awake at the time- the krokorok's or his own.

And so Tracker simply held him tighter- he who was her world. What was left of it, anyways.

She wasn't entirely sure as to how long they had stayed that way. She wanted to go after the thief, desperately so, but what could she have done?

Her legs were still shaking and her only pokémon was knocked out cold.

It was a blessing when _he_ came.

" _Madamoiselle_?"

He wasn't a very tall man, nor was he very old. Early thirties, tops. His hair was a brownish grey, the natural kind, not the type that resulted from dyes or old age and there were smile wrinkles around his eyes.

If Tracker had been paying any real attention to him at the time, she would have thought him to be the type of man that instantly earned anyone's trust with a single glance. It was those earnest brown eyes, she supposed. It was hard not to fall for the eyes.

He had bent down beside her, looking at her with what could only be described as fatherly concern. One might have thought that to be strange, for how could a perfect stranger give off the air of a parent so quickly, so effortlessly?

Tracker would soon find out that that was just how he was. A mother hen; the 'team dad' right from the get-go.

"Are you alright? You can tell me what happened, yes?" the man had asked in a thick accent, Kalosian, as though he had come right out of one of those weird movies that Tracker's sisters were always watching.

His English had really sucked back then.

(It still made for excellent teasing material.)

Tracker had opened her mouth to reply, only to find that she couldn't force the words out of her mouth. Instead she buried herself deeper into Luxio's fur, motioning helplessly to where her pokéballs had been.

She wasn't sure how he had understood her, but he did, somehow. He had nodded in understanding, offering her his hand.

"Not far from here is the Pokémon Center," he told her, as though she hadn't already known that. "I will find your pokémon for you. Do not worry about a single thing!"

 _Do not worry about a single thing._

How could he have said such a thing? Not to worry about her team, her life? It was impossible. And how could she just trust some random stranger to get them back, how would he even know which ones they were?

No, she couldn't.

"Take me with you."

The words slipped out before she could even think about it. They were clear and concise, the very opposite of what she felt.

The man looked very taken aback, as though he had never considered such a possibility. It was true. Tracker was still a young girl, trainer or not. How could she help him in such a situation?

" _Madamoiselle_ , I cannot just-"

"Take me with you." 

She still didn't know exactly why he had agreed to her request.

 _There was something in your eyes_ , he had told her a few years later. _Something special._

Tracker had scoffed at the thought. _Me? Special? As if._

Looker, as she had later known him to be, was not much of a trainer. In fact, he only had one pokémon- a croagunk.

However, that meant absolutely nothing in the face of what he truly was.

Looker, by nature, was and still is very eccentric. But beneath that benign quirkiness was an inherent brutal efficiency.

It was in the way that he had treated Luxio so quickly, so easily. The way that he had extracted every last drop of information about the thief from her with the gentlest of questions.

That was his style. Interrogating without interrogating, winning without winning at all.

He was a quick thinker, coming up with a plan at a moment's notice that if carried out properly would not only be able to take back her pokémon from the gang's pre-located hideout but also sabotage the pokémon trafficking gang's business.

It would cause mass hysteria amongst the criminals, disguising himself as one of them and acting as a distraction. Letting them know that a rare pokémon, a togepi perhaps, was sighted just a few blocks away. Oh, but its trainer looks so strong! They would need to go all together to take them down.

A few guards would be left behind, of course, but that was where Tracker came in. She would use her small size and natural way of seeming so meek and unnoticeable without her pokémon to her advantage, sneaking around and releasing the captives. Luxio was more than powerful enough to keep any resistance at bay, especially when he was prepared and oh so very starved for revenge- for the blood of those that dared steal his pack.

The plan went off without a hitch.

Looker's disguise had been flawless, taking on the identity of a high-ranking member that had been captured just a few hours before. The man was brilliant, changing his voice to fit that of the person he was impersonating and using intricate applications of makeup to mimic the man's face.

Tracker had then found her way through the warehouse after the distraction had been in place, using minute clues such as guard patrol patterns, floor scratches and nearly unnoticeable traces of dried blood on the ground to arrive at her target, the pokémon.

It was almost as if this was what she had been born to do, to track her targets and save pokémon, to put evil men behind bars so that they could never hurt anyone again.

It shouldn't have been as surprising as it was when Looker cornered her after the Veilstone police had stormed the warehouse, using the noise from Tracker's release of the captive pokémon as an excuse for the warrant.

He revealed that she had been on the list of trainers that his organization had been watching, though he had not been planning on meeting her on this mission. It was a complete coincidence, though it was far from being an unwelcome one.

Looker continued his speech, informing her that her performance had been more than _magnifique_ and offered her a place in the organization that he was a part of.

The International Police.

He knew that she would accept. The adrenaline had still been soaring through her veins and her heart finally felt complete once more, surrounded by her beloved pokémon. An offer coming at a time like this? It was only too easy to thoughtlessly agree.

Tracker looked to her pokémon, her nervous glance revealing her initial uncertainty.

An exchange of meaningful glances was made and any other person would not have been able to catch the silent conversation.

Looker was not one such person. He saw the answer in their eyes before any verbal confirmations had been made and immediately began sending the message to his superiors.

Tracker had been enrolled in the training academy by nightfall.

The next four years of Tracker's life passed by in the blink of an eye. She had been assigned her name after the first month, though it had been subject to change at any moment.

It never did.

Weekdays were split between academic courses and the most rigorous training she could have ever imagined- for both herself and her pokémon.

She had known what she wanted to do very early on, so it was easy to get the proper classes over with (criminal justice and psychology, just to name a few) but the true trial was meeting and exceeding the standards of combat capability. She was expected to be able to take on an Elite Four member and _win_ by graduation.

She did not disappoint.

Every moment of free time that could be spared was spent on the training grounds, desperately improving, evolving. It did not take more than two years of this for all of her pokémon to reach their final evolutions, aside from their sixth and final member- who had taken an extra year to reach his full potential.

Decidueye, the final piece of the puzzle, was an inexplicably intriguing avian.

Weekends were not known to be breaks for Interpol trainees. Far from it, in fact. On weekends trainees were expected to go out into the field and learn from real life cases, shadowing a seasoned Interpol agent referred to as their mentor.

Tracker loved the weekends.

Not only were they an opportunity to escape the confines of the academy, but it also gave her time to spend with Looker- who quickly became the father-figure that her own father had never been for her.

Her father had never had much time for Tracker. The owner of Thornton Berry Paradise™, he had always been far too busy for his youngest child.

Any time that he did have was often monopolized by the twins, which was understandable.

After all, why would he ever notice the plain jane over there when there were princesses to be admired?

Looker, on the other hand?

He gave her every last drop of the attention and affection that she had craved as a child. He taught her new things on every mission- small tips and lessons here and there.

Looker even took time to teach her of his specialty, reconnaissance. He showed her how to make his brilliant disguises, how to apply makeup to perfection. He told her all about wordplay and how to listen and interpret to her fullest potential.

Sure, those things would never be her strong point- Tracker was far too honest for that kind of thing- but what mattered was that he cared enough to show her these things, to share knowledge with her and help her improve.

He scolded her when she made mistakes, gently, and showed her how to fix them. He praised her when she did something right and gave her advice on how to make it better.

Yes, weekends were definitely the best.

The cases they took on were never _too_ dangerous- she was still just a trainee- but they were never boring. Usually taking place in other regions, the fieldwork that Tracker did with Looker was usually a combination of their specialities- infiltrating gangs and organizations while simultaneously apprehending the notorious criminals that ran them.

Though Looker usually just orchestrated the downfall of various dangerous organizations, he was more than okay with changing his style a bit for the sake of Tracker's learning experience.

He was just awesome like that.

It was on one such mission in the Alola region that had set Tracker's path to cross with Decidueye's, a dartrix at the time.

It wasn't anything big. A band of thieves had taken up residence on Melemele Island and the kahuna had been out of town for some sort of meeting. The regular police were too incompetent to handle it and so the assignment ended up in the hands of Interpol.

It had been a stroke of luck that Looker had taken it for them.

Tracker had been mesmerized by the beauty of Alola- the lush, tropical nature was absolutely incredible. The warm temperatures were absolutely heavenly against her pale skin and the food was some of the best she had ever tasted.

(Though, she swears by now that if she gets sent on another 'relaxing' Alolan case because of her 'workaholism' ever again then she'll shoot Boss herself, nicest human being on the planet be damned.)

The case hadn't been anything out of the ordinary; a simple track-and-take-in. The band of thieves wasn't noted to be especially strong- just a bit tricky. Tracker and Looker had split up: Looker heading into town for more information as Tracker and Mightyena had set out on discovering the ruffians' stronghold.

It was only when they had finally discovered a trail that things really got interesting.

The thieves, you see, had been greedy. Too greedy. They had discovered a nest of rowlets- rare pokémon that were worth millions on the black market. Obtaining them had been easy as well, only taking them a single bullet to the mother's heart.

Of course, what they hadn't thought about was the father.

Strong and agile, the dartrix should have been able to retrieve its chicks and avenge its mate easily, had it not been for the guns. Guns were of course outlawed from society, however there were always exceptions. Police, both regular and International, were entrusted with these weapons for the sake of security and peacekeeping.

But truthfully, not even those that enforced the law were perfect. There were corrupt officers all the time.

All it took was one or two to get guns out onto the black market. From there designs were made based on the police's state of the art weaponry and voila! The entire underworld is now armed.

Joy.

The thieves, being the thieves that they were, had stolen some of these for themselves- turning any mammalian or avian pokémon without the protection of thick skin or hardened scales from a fearsome adversary to easy prey.

After all, no matter how strong a pokémon is, no matter how much damage they can make or take… a well aimed bullet can take it down in mere seconds.

An arrow through the heart, so to speak.

The dartrix had lain there on the ground after its encounter with those that had stolen his chicks for what could have been anywhere from a few minutes to half an hour when Tracker had finally come across it, broken and bleeding out- but not defeated. Never defeated.

Tracker had never been so thankful for Mightyena's capabilities as a bloodhound than in that very moment. The sharp scent of the lifeline flowing out of the great bird had been a blessing- as was the thief's terrible aim. The thief's bullets hadn't hit vitals, but they had hit deep into essential networks of muscles and nerves within the dartrix's wings; one hitting his leg as well.

It would have been a pitiful sight- if not for the dartrix's eyes, of course.

They burnt with something that was not quite life, but it was also not hate or remorse. Perhaps it had been sheer willpower; Tracker didn't know. She had been too frantic to pay any real attention to the eyes; too desperate to apply the hyper potions and stop the bleeding.

In the end, Looker and his croagunk had been the ones to get rid of the thieves and lock them up in the island's jail.

The rowlets were turned over to the island kahuna and the rest of the stolen pokémon and goods were returned to any traceable owners.

However, that still left the dartrix. The local Nurse Joy had commended Tracker on her first aid skills, but a professional examination had proven that the damage was far more extensive than it had appeared to be.

 _I'm sorry,_ the pinkette had said, _-but I don't think that that dartrix can recover. The nerve damage on the wings was too extensive because of the vital points that the bullets hit. Even if it could move past the trauma… walking with a leg like that without wing balance? It would suffer every day._

Looker's expression turned grim and Tracker didn't understand. The fifteen year old was still innocent in some ways, both fortunately and unfortunately.

She had always been taught that a Pokémon Center could fix anything. Nurse Joys were like angels to her, women with the power to save any pokémon no matter the injury or illness.

How could a Nurse Joy not be able to save this poor dartrix? He hadn't done anything wrong. He didn't deserve this. Bad things like this only happened to humans. Pokémon only got damaged like this from other pokémon's attacks and those were _always_ reversible.

She just didn't understand this at all.

 _Dear_ \- gently, patronizingly- _we're going to have to put him down. It's for the best._

It was as though the world had stopped.

 _No, no!_ Not the pokémon she had saved. Not him, anything but him. They couldn't kill him, they wouldn't.

She wouldn't let them.

 _And she didn't._

 _No,_ Tracker told the nurse. _You can't do that. He's mine and I know you can't put down a pokémon without the trainer's consent._

Thank Arceus she had decided to transport the dartrix in a pokéball- after all, legally speaking whoever captures a pokémon is automatically their trainer.

And that was that.

Looker was conflicted, but eventually he agreed. Every creature deserves a chance to live, did they not? No matter how twisted that chance may be.

Oh, the nurse had tried to convince her otherwise, but to no avail. The avian's fate was set in stone.

A few days later Tracker returned to the academy, all six pokémon in tow. Dartrix, she had discovered, was a sweet creature of strange tastes. He liked horror movies, _a lot_. He preferred chocolate over the almonds and weedles that his species normally fed on- in spite of the noted aversion to sweets most dartrices held. He especially loved using Tracker as his own personal pillow, often nudging her to sit down during the training sessions that he could not participate in in order to gain access to her lap.

In retrospect, Tracker had probably spoiled him too much as well. She had a bad habit of doing that, even now. If she hadn't then maybe she wouldn't have to refill her sweets stash more often than she ever did her grocery shopping…

Training sessions had probably been less training and more torture for Dartrix. He was stuck waddling around as he tried to regain the ability to walk properly, watching Garchomp fly through the air longingly and enviously spectating the elegant battles between Mightyena and Luxray- the graceful dances of Milotic and Gallade.

For a pokémon to change their type through evolution a major change must occur within the pokémon itself. A pokémon gaining the dragon type must first obtain a dragon's regal air and power- a pokémon gaining the dark type must discover the innate ruthlessness and bloodthirst within themselves.

When a dartrix evolves into a decidueye, it undergoes a rare type change- from a flying type to a ghost type. Ghost type pokémon are defined as the lingering emotions and intentions of the dead given life, creatures born from the end.

So then, what could possibly cause any pokémon to have such a type change? Studies have shown that three different species- dartrix, snorunt, oricorio- are capable of it. Further research over a period of five years had shown that the true requirement of their evolution was not a change in personality.

No, the truth is that a pokémon could only become a ghost type if it gives up on life and embraces death- if it gives itself over to the other side. Then and only then will its body cease to have many of the limitations of the living- ignoring the existence of previous injuries such as nerve damage or permanent paralysis.

Tracker still wasn't sure about how she felt about waking up one morning in a loving, feathery embrace and to the sorrowful gazes of her other pokémon.

At least Decidueye had been happy, incredibly so. ( _Even if it hurt to think about the reason, so much.)_

He had gone from a disabled and pitiful creature to a brilliant fighter, capable of stopping and trapping any human or pokémon with a single spiritual arrow- a shackle of the soul. Decidueye was now more than capable of keeping up with his teammates, a fact that left a bitter taste in Tracker's mouth for she could see something else, something emptier behind the mischievous levitation of objects around the apartment and the subtle horror movie references around the house that guests were subjected to.

But truthfully, this was something that just came with the profession. No agent or pokémon in Interpol ever made to retirement unscathed. Agents often lost their pokémon- they often lost their souls to the field. It was perilous, but it was also necessary.

It was a few for the sake of many. It was a simple logic and yet it was also the cruelest.

But that was okay. Tracker was fine with it, honest. If that constant danger was the price she had to pay for the life she and her pokémon lived now then she would gladly pay it. She could protect them on her own now. If someone was going to become another casualty here- _just another statistic to be spoken about at the academy_ \- then it would be her.

They've made it this far; the road is nowhere its end. Besides, it wasn't as though they were alone- not by a long shot.

 _International Police Sinnoh Headquarters- Twelfth Squad. Hearthome City. Present day._

Tracker walked through the halls of HQ's second floor, stopping as she reached a simple wooden door marked with the number twelve. She opened it and stood aside for a moment, taking a teasing bow. "Ladies first, madam."

Mightyena's crimson eyes narrowed at his trainer, playfully nipping her leg before gesturing for her to enter first. She was the lady here, not him.

Tracker shook her head. "Hm… but I seem to recall a certain someone allowing a bunch of children to layer his fur with some _very_ ladylike pink ribbons and allowing them to stay on for quite a while after… It's only polite that I treat you accordingly," she teased.

Their last mission involved that capture of a serial killer who targeted children- a disgusting being indeed. Gallade had taken a bit more pleasure than he should have in knocking out the vile man as Tracker and Mightyena freed the remaining children.

It was much easier to let the children play with her pokémon downstairs as they awaited transportation than it was to explain what exactly happened to their "sleeping" companions from the bloody mess she had found them in.

It had been necessary- but that didn't mean that Tracker was going to miss out on the opportunity to tease a bit.

Mightyena wasn't having anything of it. He nudged Tracker's legs incessantly. He may not have regretted the unfortunate degradation to his pride but he sure as hell wasn't going to take this either.

….not unless Luxray had to deal with it too, at least. Mightyena hadn't been the only victim of the pink ribbons.

"What, you're in denial of this new side of you?" Tracker questioned in an innocent tone. "Come on, we both know you enjoyed it. Embrace your identity!"

Mightyena growled. No way in hell was he going to 'embrace' his trainer's untasteful joke. Especially when there was a _very_ good chance that his mate was in the room and very much listening in on this little conversation.

"It isn't good for your psyche to just keep it all in like this," the agent advised sagely. "I'm sure Houndoom wouldn't mind. Who knows, she might be into that kind of thing."

Mightyena stared at her flatly, the words "are you fucking kidding me" written all over his face.

They both knew that this was nothing but good-natured teasing. It was an essential part of their relationship and a means of normalcy amongst the insanity that made up their lifestyle.

"She's Hunter's pokémon," she informed her beloved canine. In all honesty it probably wouldn't change a thing even if Mightyena had queer tastes- not that it would have been a bad thing. He was perfect in Tracker's eyes and probably Houndoom's too and nothing could ever get in the way of that. "Would it really come as a surprise if she was?"

Mightyena conceded her point.

They bantered for a few more minutes before finally going inside side by side, instantly enveloped by the distinct smell of lavender and cherries.

Huh. Boss must be experimenting with weird air fresheners again…

Tracker took a deep breath, bracing for impact as she heard the fast-paced footsteps coming from their division's commons room.

 _Five._

This happened every time any of them came home.

 _Four._

Every.

 _Three._

Damn.

 _Two._

Time.

 _One._

Tracker closed her eyes as she was predictably tackled by a grey and black blur, finding herself trapped within a tight but not entirely unwelcome embrace. "Hello, Hunter," she sighed, amusement coloring the exasperated words.

She could feel him grin against her shoulder. "Welcome home Tracks~ Did you miss me? Was the separation too much for you to bear? Oh my poor little Tracks…"

Her lips began to quirk into a smile. It was hard not to- the other agent's sheer happiness was infectious. "One- don't call me that. How would you feel if I suddenly started calling you 'Huntie' or something equally stupid? And two- I think I'd be more than happy to spend some more time away from you. It might keep my spine from being crushed about twenty times a day…"

Hunter pulled back, a roguish grin spreading across his sharp features as his warm chocolate colored eyes sparkled with mirth. "Oh, I dunno about that first part. My boyfriend just _loves_ screaming that name at night. How could I ever complain~?"

Tracker rolled her eyes, suppressing a snicker. Encouraging this one only lead to a rant about how amazing and perfect said boyfriend is. Tracker already more than knows that particular speech by heart, thank you very much. "T-M-I, Hunter. T-M-I."

"Mmm, I wouldn't say that!" another voice joined in. "I for one would love to hear more about the beautiful love of this precious yaoi couple!"

"See?" Hunter sniffed. "Shade appreciates the perfection of our romance."

Shade- a petite redheaded woman with oversized glasses that looked more like a fourteen year-old than her actual age of twenty three- bounced over to the two crime specialists and gleefully launched herself into the hug, sending all three to the floor.

"It's nice to see you too," Tracker remarked dryly as she rubbed her back after the impact. Why was she used to this again? "Ow."

Hunter laughed, though he winced slightly himself. "Yeahh, soo not my kind of pain."

Shade rubbed the back of her head sheepishly from the top of the pile. "Um… sorry? I kinda just got a teensy bit excited since it's been _so_ long since everyone was home at the same time!" the resident hacker explained rapidly, averting her baby blue eyes.

"I don't need those mental images, idiot," Tracker griped at her annoying friend before looking over at the other girl. Shade was _way_ too strong for a tiny stick that did nothing but sit at a computer all day long and argue with Porygon-Z. "Yeah, just a teensy bit. So Looker and Strider are home too?" 

Hunter shook his head. "Nah, emo-boy's still out."

"But he should be coming back in a few minutes!" Shade chimed in. "Looker just got back about an hour ago. Analyst made tea and coffee for everyone!"

Well that was rare… There had been a strange spike in crime during the past year, leading to the deployment of many agents at a time. Tracker, Hunter, Strider, and Looker as well as their one and only beloved Boss hadn't all been home all at once in a long time. There had even been times when Shade and Analyst- their sugar-and-various-other-unhealthy-things addict of a forensic scientist- had been the only ones at HQ.

Tracker opened her mouth to reply only to be interrupted by another more than welcome voice.

"I see you three are having fun there in your little puppy pile," Boss said warmly, entering the hallway. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Nope," Tracker answered quickly, looking desperately into Boss's twinkling lavender eyes. "Not at all. Help, please?"

"That would be nice," Hunter agreed, having had already given up on getting up with Shade's weight on top of him.

The purple-haired woman 'hm'd thoughtfully, putting a delicate looking finger to her full pink lips. "But you three look so cozy… I couldn't possibly keep you from enjoying yourselves down there."

"You're a cruel human being," Tracker deadpanned. That was a lie but hey, even Boss had her moments. The rest of the squad was a terrible influence.

Shade blinked slowly. "Enjoying ourselves down here?"

Hunter shook his head in mock disappointment. "Silly Boss."

Boss frowned, tilting her head slightly in confusion. "Did I say something wrong?"

Tracker rolled her eyes, flashing a fond smile. "Don't ever change, Boss."

"I don't get it…"

Boss had never been one for dirty humor, not even back when she was just a regular agent who actually had time to learn the art of it. While she was by no means innocent, perversion was rarely ever on her mind.

"That's okay, sweetie," Hunter comforted. "Someone needs to stay innocent around here."

"Innocent…?" Boss's eyes widened as the implications of her words finally dawned on her and a flush settled over her pale cheeks. " _Oh_."

"Classic," Shade laughed "-but don't we have other priorities? Like getting me off of Hunter, for example?"

"Like you can't do that yourself, short-stuff," the man in question snarked.

Tracker sighed. "All that time in front of the computer must have deteriorated her muscles… just like the way that your weight is destroying my will to live."

Hunter gasped. "Are you calling me fat?"

"Yes."

Tracker could feel a weight being lifted off of her- finally. A quick glance up revealed that a very amused and still slightly flushed Boss had lifted the petite redhead off of their puppy-pile.

"Better now, children?" the woman questioned teasingly.

"Much!" Shade chimed, shifting her neck so that she could press a kiss to Boss' cheek. "My hero~"

"Children?" Hunter complained, affronted. "You're only what, five years older than me?"

"Five and a half," Tracker corrected. "Now get your sorry ass off of me already."

Hunter pouted before finally lifting himself off of Tracker, much to the latter's relief.

"Now that that's settled, there seems to be some tea calling my name in the commons room," Boss said, shifting Shade in her arms so that she was carrying the smaller woman in a bridal-style. "Come join us whenever you're ready, alright?" she added, turning around and heading down the hallway, Shade waving as they went.

Some tea did sound pretty good right now… "Yeah, we should probably get going before our pokémon start fornicating in some random corner."

Hunter laughed, offering Tracker his hand. "Mmm, would that really be so bad? Little houndour puppies for everyone~!"

"Yes," Tracker deadpanned, taking his hand and pulling herself up, "-it would. One baby in here is bad enough already. Two actually, counting you."

"And you called Boss cruel…" Hunter said with a dramatic sigh as he helped Tracker up. "You should respect your elders more. Not only am I three years older than you, but I'm also your senior crim-agent!"

Hunter specialized in the same areas as Tracker did- the hunting and captures of criminals- with a few twists of his own in that he also did some recon on the side, though it definitely wasn't his favored area of expertise. Tracker liked to think that they were the equals in many areas- but she wasn't nearly arrogant enough to say that she was better than Hunter at this in any way.

"If you're going to call yourself my senior then you need to start acting like it too," she retorted as she started down the hall.

"But that's _boring_ ," he whined. Tracker had to concede that point- a Hunter that wasn't eccentric and overdramatic wasn't a Hunter at all.

"Maybe," Tracker allowed, entering the commons room.

The room itself was a plain, familiar sight- nothing special. Grey walls were adorned with multiple monitors and equally bland furniture decorated the floor. There wasn't much effort put into the room- not at all. It was practical and comfortable and that was all that it needed to be.

Stretched out on one of the couches was a taller woman in a white lab coat, a lit cigarette hanging casually from her gloved fingers. A cup of hot tea rested upon the table next to her, the steam intermingling with the puffs of smoke in the air.

Tracker wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Do you have to do that in here, Analyst?"

The woman in question merely snorted and and brought the cigarette to her lips once more. "After what that Kalosian asshole over there made me do? Hell yes."

"I do not believe that _doing your job_ is a good enough reason to smoke in the commons room," said the 'Kalosian asshole' in question, disapproval coloring his lightly accented voice.

"It is when you bring me _twenty_ completely useless samples to run fifteen individual tests on, Looker. Learn to differentiate between poison and actual fucking dust, moron," the ebony-haired woman retorted, glaring at the man without any real malice.

Looker's cheeks colored slightly at the reprimand. "In my defense, those _could_ have been left over samples from drugs that had already been transported elsewhere…"

"But they weren't," Analyst reminded him dryly. "I wasted four hours of my life on complete tauros-shit."

"Language, Analyst," Boss scolded from her spot looking over files -probably orders on cases- on the loveseat. "There is a child in the room."

Looker nodded in agreement. " _Oui_ , let us not corrupt my young pokémon," he said, nodding over to the sleeping tyrogue taking up Tracker's favored armchair.

"I think that might be a lost cause," Hunter spoke up cheerfully, having been more focused on taking cute pictures of the snuggled up Mightyena and Houndoom than joining the conversation earlier. "The poor thing's spent its entire life around us, after all. Who knows what might be coming out of his cute little mouth by now."

Boss chuckled. "No, Tyrogue is still as sweet as can be. We haven't gotten to him yet, it seems."

Boss's original codename had been 'Communer' for a reason. She was a unique psychic capable of understanding pokémon, a helpful ability that had helped her rise in the ranks.

"Oh, I dunno about that," Shade piped up. "Porygon says that he caught Tyrogue saying a _very_ bad word yesterday."

The many screens hanging on the walls all lit up simultaneously at Shade's comment, nearly startling Tracker who had been attempting to lift Tyrogue into her arms as inconspicuously as to avoid waking the young pokémon up. She would never get used to Porygon's spontaneity, it seems.

A single message flashed across the room, its contents surprising absolutely no one.

 **It's** _ **Porygon-Z**_ , **insolent humans**.

"Oh give it up already, will you Porygon?" Analyst grumbled as her eyes flickered up to scan the message. "No one's going to remember."

 **! ! ! !**

Shade giggled. "My pokémon's soo cute! Oh, I remember when he was just a teensy little program…"

 **I am not cute. I am terrifying. ! ! ! !**

"Shhh, no baby, you're adorable."

 **I also have access to your entire hentai collection.**

Shade instantly paled. "You know what...? On second thought… you are _terrifying_. Horrifying. I bow down to you, Porygon-Z, oh great lord of technological evil!"

 **Good little human.**

Looker frowned. "Hentai collection…? _Quelle_?"

Hunter nodded, a sly grin decorating his face. "Oh yes, it is a very impressive hentai collection. Almost as good as mine. _Almost_."

Tracker sighed. "Your shared obsession with Kantonian animated porn will never cease to amaze me."

Looker looked absolutely scandalized. " _Kantonian porn?!_ "

"You know, most people get to come home to hot chocolate and sanity, not a discussion about hentai," a new voice drawled from the doorway.

In the doorway stood a tall blonde man dressed entirely in what can only be described as a 'punk' or 'emo' fashion. His piercing azure eyes contrasted heavily against the dark makeup decorating his pale skin and never failed to unnerve anyone that hadn't already become accustomed to his piercing gaze.

"But you aren't a part of 'most people'," Boss said cheekily. "Welcome home, Strider."

Strider opened his mouth to return the good sentiments only to be greeted with the same treatment that Tracker had already been subject to.

Said brunette may or may not be feeling vindictively pleased at the sight of her friend suffering at the hands of their psychopathic coworkers.

" _Oh my-_ get off me you idiots!" Strider hissed vehemently.

"Welcome home honey~" Hunter sang, shifting so that he was comfortably sitting on the angered blonde's legs.

"Don't call me that," Strider deadpanned. "I'm not your damn boyfriend."

Shade- who had joined Hunter in tackling down their friend- giggled from her spot on Strider's chest. "Oooo, it would be _so_ cute if you were though!"

"Nah," Hunter dismissed. "I'm not into tsunderes. Besides, I only have eyes for my darling Erin~"

"That's nice," Strider said, resignation trickling into his tone. He knew by now that there was no real escape. "Now get your stupid asses off of me, I swear you've gained weight."

Hunter and Shade gasped in unison- _fat? Them?_

Tracker tuned them out at this point. She loved these idiots, really she did, but she had more important things to worry about- like feeding the newly awake Tyrogue in her arms.

While yes, he _is_ Looker's pokémon, Tracker is the expert on taking care of baby pokémon. A young pokémon of the more powerful species- i.e. tyrogue, gabite, ralts, so on and so forth- often took much longer than most pokémon to develop properly.

While a pokémon like zigzagoon would take only six months to develop to the point of not needing to be cared for by its mother and to be able to battle, a pokémon of the aforementioned category often needed at least a year to reach that point in its life.

During her time as a child in Solaceon Tracker had been required to take lessons on caring for baby pokémon in preparation for the time at which she received her destined partner. As such, she was more or less a specialist in caring for the young one in her arms.

It wasn't that the others were bad at this, per se. In fact, Looker and Hunter were both very proficient in taking care of Tyrogue's needs, as well as Boss.

However, they just didn't have Tracker's finesse in shifting her arms just right for the best bottle angles, her natural way of getting Tyrogue to cooperate, her knowledge of just the right soothing words to get him to fall asleep.

Tyrogue himself on the other hand was… a bittersweet subject to say the least. Only about half a year old, the baby was Looker's new partner- a replacement of sorts.

It wasn't as if Looker had any other choice.

Croagunk- his partner- was dead. And he had been for a long time, or so it seemed to all of them.

It was a horrible day, about a year ago, Tracker recalled. Looker had come back from a mission- an S-Rank risk.

Tracker hadn't had any doubts that Looker would complete it and come home safe and sound. He was their squad's most senior agent- he never failed any of his missions.

She just hadn't expected the man to come home alone, tired and broken.

Mechanical and unresponsive- a ticking time bomb until he finally broke down after submitting his report.

Tracker knew, unfortunately, that this was an occupational hazard. Pokémon were not the invincible creatures that the world made them out to be- they were still fragile, simply less so than humans.

It was a scary thought, wasn't it? A thought that she had had multiple times from the beginning of her career onwards, of having to live without the creatures that made life worth living.

From the day that she had been enrolled in the academy; from the day that her own pokémon had first been stolen from her- she had always been aware of the gravity and likelihood of this possibility.

She wasn't sure how Looker was still alive, still working. Working without her team was a foreign concept to her… and living while knowing that they were not even more so.

She didn't want to find out either.

Tracker had gone down to Solaceon Town for the first time in years in order to retrieve an egg the day after. It wasn't that she was eager to replace her pseudo-father's precious partner. It was that she couldn't handle seeing someone that she looked up to so far gone.

It scared her, the way death had settled over the people that had so quickly become the family that she had always unknowingly wanted. She was helpless against the tears, against the depression that came with the words _il est parti_ ; _he is gone_.

So she did the only thing she could do- bring them a new life. The egg that soon became _Tyrogue_.

"-and Banette couldn't stop laughing at all the corpses, _Arceus_ , why do I specialize in ghost types again? Oi, Tracker, are you even listening?"

Tracker blinked in surprise at the sudden address. "Oh, um, yeah, 'course Strider."

The blonde poké-specialist stared back at her flatly. "Then what was I talking about just now?"

"...hentai?"

There was laughter scattered around the room at her response but Strider was entirely unamused. "If you're going to zone out like this then zone out over something normal, not whatever depressing shit's going through your head now."

Huh...was she really that obvious? Tracker sighed, looking down into Tyrogue's large concerned eyes as she held the bottle of formula for the young pokémon to drink from. Mightyena was pressing up against her leg, a low whine emanating from his throat. _What's wrong?_ the crimson eyes questioned.

"Tracker?"

"I, er, it's nothing," Tracker said, fidgeting under the disbelieving gazes. "There were just too many dead children involved in that case I handled this week for my liking, honest."

 _Don't look at the picture, idiot. Don't look at it._

There was a picture hanging on the wall between the screens- of the entire team back when Tracker joined. It was a beautiful memory, but it was also the easiest way to get caught when she was thinking about what happened to Croagunk. She often caught Looker staring at it longingly and it was hard not to notice the wistful glances of the other members.

Every one of their pokémon was a member of their team, their family. Every loss affected them all, no matter whose pokémon it was.

Tracker hadn't noticed Hunter coming towards her until he was right up in her face, inspecting her eyes for any sign of unhappiness. "You sure, hon? You do look more out of it than usual…"

Tracker shook her head in response. "Yeah, nothing to worry about, promise."

Boss sighed, concern dancing in her eyes from across the room. "If you're sure…"

She wasn't and they all knew it, but Tracker was as stubborn as she was easy to read. If she didn't want to talk about it then she wouldn't.

However, that still didn't stop Mightyena from climbing up onto the armchair and nuzzling his trainer's neck, his eyes signifying that he would be getting a proper response out of her later.

Tracker nodded minutely, wincing slightly at the combined weight of both pokémon in her lap.

Looker shook his head at his protegeé. "Lying is not good for you." Stupid people that knew her too well…

"She's not going to say what's on her mind," Analyst noted flatly. "Classic Tracker."

Strider rolled his eyes. "And you call me a tsundere?"

"Yup," Shade confirmed bluntly, her fingers racing across her keyboard. "I can do a statistical analysis on whatever the real issue might be. There are only so many problems that this one can have right now and there isn't a single one of them that we don't know about."

"But I'm not lying," Tracker protested in vain. "Seriously, you don't have to do that! I'm telling the truth."

"Anyways," Boss continued, drawing everyone's attention away from Tracker's dilemma.

 _Note to self_ , Tracker thought, _buy Boss all the sushi in the world. ASAP._

"As much as I love it when everyone's home safe and sound, we have been given mission assignments from the higher ups. Hunter," she began.

"Mhm~?"

"There has been a break-in at the Mauville Space Station several hours ago. According to the space station's faculty, top secret information has been stolen. Since Hoenn does not have its own Interpol branch established yet, you are to go down there tomorrow morning and find the culprits. Recover the information if possible."

"Aye-aye captain!" Hunter cheered. "What's the rank?"

"C, for now," Boss answered, standing up to hand him a file with the rest of the mission details.

Missions were ranked by order of risk and importance, going from D to A in order of increasing difficulty. Above A-rank is S-rank, the highest risk. S-rank cases had the highest mortality rate and as such were only handed out to agents of the highest order.

"Looker."

" _Oui_ , Chief?"

"I'm sending you down to Unova, S-rank. I'll explain the details to you in private later. I will also be lending you Alakazam in order to complete this mission."

Looker nodded seriously. "Of course."

"Strider-" the blonde immediately perked up "- it seems that the froslass have made a resurgence in Snowpoint City and have started up their kidnappings again. As a froslass trainer yourself, you shouldn't have any difficulty with this one. Regardless, it is of A-rank difficulty." 

"Understood. But are you sure that its actually a froslass this time? The last mission you sent me on was supposed to be dealing with a misdreavus luring young children away- not a pedophile stealing them away into the abandoned chateau."

Boss nodded. "All of the signs point to the involvement of froslass. While your last case was a tragic case of misinformation, it shouldn't happen again. Besides, I believe that you and your ghosts are more than equipped to handle human enemies, yes?"

"We are," Strider agreed. "But that doesn't mean that its my cup of tea by any means."

"True enough," Boss affirmed. "Tracker, you are being sent down to Kanto in order to investigate some rumors about Team Rocket's old boss, Giovanni Moretti, reobtaining Mewtwo. Of course, these are only rumors, so the mission is only a B-rank. However, given the Kantonian branch's last blunder with Team Rocket five years ago, H.Q. has decided to send someone of my choice from our division instead."

The Kantonian branch was the laughing stock of Interpol. After all, there was hardly anything more embarrassing than allowing a corrupt organization to run rampant in their region. Except for letting a _fifteen year old_ take care of it all on their own instead of getting rid of the problem the way they were supposed to.

They say that time heals all wounds, but the truth is that it really doesn't. In fact, the resentment towards the Kantonian branch for ruining Interpol's reputation has only gotten worse as the years went by.

Hell, 'Kantonian' -as racist though it seems- has even become Interpol slang for 'pathetic', 'suckish' and 'failure'. Someone failed a mission? How Kantonian! So and so forgot to do such and such? Totally Kantonian.

Just because the agents were professionals didn't mean that they didn't have their childish sides, unfortunately for Kanto's branch. The rest of Interpol took its image _very_ seriously so it was really only natural for them to lash out against the blemish on their history _somehow_.

Tracker wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I thought that that was all already settled."

Giovanni had been presumed dead after years of searching and some leftover belongings from several of his hiding spots had been found with signs of a fatal struggle. Team Rocket's fall was monumental- it was deemed impossible for it to return. Nonetheless, Interpol had been keeping track of all of the admins and anyone else of importance in order to cover all their bases.

"It had been," Boss agreed, "-but it seems that several of the organization's former admins have been on the move and rumors of Giovanni's secret weapon, the artificial pokémon Mewtwo, have been circulating. It is uncertain as to what their aim is so it's best to investigate as soon as possible to avoid any unsavory situations."

Mewtwo may have been a secret to the general public but it was common knowledge to Interpol. The artificial legendary had disappeared off of the face of the earth soon after Team Rocket's defeat and had been deemed a low level threat after failing to resurface for over two years. Tracker highly doubted that Team Rocket still had control over it, but it never hurt to be careful.

"Understood," Tracker said, casually saluting her leader. "When do I leave?"

"The next ship to Kanto leaves in a few hours… so at six forty-five."

Tracker blinked. "But I literally just got back from that case in the Floaroma area!"

"And you're going on another one now," Hunter dismissed as he looked over his own file. Tracker accepted the Rocket file from Boss, shooting him an annoyed look as she skimmed through it.

"Unfortunately," Looker said, "-down time is not a luxury we can afford in recent times."

Shade pouted. "But I wanted to spend some time together…a new sushi place even opened up around the block!"

Strider frowned. "Don't tempt me. Work first, pleasure later."

"I think you're all just a bunch of workaholics," Analyst inputted airily. "If the job doesn't kill you all first then the lack of sleep will."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Strider snapped back.

"'Welcome, princess."

Tracker sighed at her friends' antics, putting down Tyrogue and shrugging off Mightyena. "I'm heading out- Milotic'll kill me if we leave before his regularly scheduled beauty sleep. Mightyena, let's go."

Tracker said goodbye to the rest of the team and headed out the door, her loyal canine following at her heels. She only had three hours to pack a fresh bag and board the S.S. Ashley, the only ship running to Vermillion this late in August- time was of the essence.

 _This better not take over two weeks…_

 **A/N- PLEASE READ THIS**

 **Okay, a few things that I should probably clear up before anyone gets confused.**

 **This is essentially an AU. Pokémon has a lot of canon material to draw from- a lot of which occurs in what can only be considered alternate universes. Hell, Sun and Moon even confirmed this.**

 **Therefore, I will be drawing material from the anime, manga and games to build this world as realistically as possible (in my opinion at least).**

 **No, there will be no Ash Ketchum.**

 **So far only two canon characters have been introduced- Looker and Anabel (a.k.a. Boss as it is stated in Sun and Moon that she has a high position in Interpol and works with Looker, while the anime paints her as a psychic.)**

 **The only OC that will be getting any constant focus is Tracker. The others are simply supporting characters that will be recurring when necessary.**

 **I think that's about it…**

 **ALL REVIEWERS GET VIRTUAL HUGS! I love knowing what my readers think about my work so that I can try and improve from it as much as I can. Please make sure to tell me what you think about this!**

 **And lastly, this entire fic is dedicated to the lovely and talented Natripper, my soulmate in friendship that I could never survive without.**


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